She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. Still, one never could tell. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. The first peg was torture.
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